


Coin Flip

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Gambling Addiction, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, References to Addiction, author has not been addicted and apologizes for any inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: A mission to Mantle gives Qrow the chance to show off his semblance for once. Clover can't say he's unappreciative.Not intentionally written for Fair Game Week, but you can go ahead and count it as a really late Day 1 prompt if you'd like.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 123





	Coin Flip

**Author's Note:**

> Did I marathon the entirety of RWBY in a week before posting this? Perhaps.

“Qrow, wait.”

The huntsman stopped, eyebrow raised. “Thought you'd want to get this started as soon as possible. Where's that military efficiency?”

“This is important.” He looked away, tracing the flickering lights above the door. Pretending his heart rate hadn't picked up as soon as he'd set foot in the lot. “You know how you don't go to bars anymore?”

“Yeah? What–” Qrow cut himself off, following Clover’s gaze. “Aw, boy scout, you too?”

He gave him a weak grin. “Yeah. Thought it wouldn't be a problem, but…” He gestured to the lights, the sign: _Babs' Casino._

“...but it might be a problem,” Qrow finished for him on a sigh. “I am going to kill James.”

“I can still complete the mission,” Clover said, trying to keep any sharpness out of his voice. “It's not a big deal. I just thought I should let you know, just in case.”

“Pretending to be big name gamblers so we can get close to the boss?” Qrow wasn't so restrained. “I'm not gonna do that to you, Cloves.”

“But–”

“You wouldn't let me play an alcoholic, I'm not gonna make you play a card shark.”

He conceded the point with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “So what are we going to do? We can't exactly walk away.”

Qrow looked him over. Those intent red eyes seemed to pierce him, read the back of his skull, and Clover straightened almost unconsciously to parade rest. Then Qrow grinned, a small slip of a smirk. “I've got a few ideas, but they might be a little… messier than the original plan.”

“I think I can live with that,” Clover managed.

“Good.” He came closer – Clover’s breath hitched – and bent to adjust Clover’s lucky pin, tucking it further out of sight. The heat of his touch seemed to linger, even through all the layers between them. “Then here’s what we’ll do. You find a corner to sit in, somewhere you can keep yourself out of trouble, and keep your eyes on me. Think you can manage that?”

Well, turnabout was fair play. Clover skated his own eyes down Qrow’s body, lingering on the cross glinting at the hollow of his throat, the winged lapels framing his chest, the buttons accenting his slender waist. Winter did good work. “I'd have a hard time taking them off you,” he replied honestly.

A light flush climbed Qrow’s neck, barely noticeable in the harsh light. “I said keep yourself out of trouble.”

His dry answer unknotted some of the tension in Clover’s back, and he laughed, voice light. “Oh, are you trouble?”

“I'm gonna be.” Qrow smirked again and, with one last pat to Clover’s chest, sauntered back, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “When I give the signal, focus your semblance on me. Got it?”

It took Clover a second to reply. Haloed by the twinkling lights, that devilish grin made something in his stomach flip. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat when it came out huskier than expected. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Qrow tilted his head at him, birdlike. Something in his smile softened, and his voice was gentle when he spoke. “They might think something’s weird if we go in together. Go ahead and get yourself settled. I'll follow in five.”

Clover nodded, numb, and walked through the door.

He kept his pace light and efficient, his smile empty and charming. No hardship there; his head was half-empty anyway. After so many years on the force, the act came naturally, and he leaned into it, putting a bit of Qrow’s saunter into his step, and making sure to spend just a half-second too long catching a few lucky ladies’ eyes.

A quick circuit first. Casing the joint, Qrow might say: planning escape routes, locating trouble spots, and cataloguing the company. It also gave him the chance to blend in a little more, get lost in the crowd. It wouldn’t do to stick out too much.

He kept his eyes on the women’s jewelry, watching the ways they winked and sparkled in the showroom lights. His internal Qrow kept a running commentary in his ear – _god, can you believe that one? I don’t know how she sees to put it on; I’d be blinded inside of a minute._

 _Yeah, cause you’d spend too much time staring at it and forget to blink,_ Clover retorted.

_Speaking of staring, pretty boy, you might wanna find the water cooler if you're gonna be staring off into space like this. Least it'd give you an excuse._

Yeah, that was a fair assessment. Wincing internally (and shelving a “tall drink of water” pun – there was self-indulgent, and there was self-indulgent), Clover made his way to the pitcher he'd seen on a table at the far side of the room.

He poured himself a drink. Seizing the invitation, a few ladies materialized out of the crowd, introducing themselves as Beatrice, Lily, and Thea. “But you can call me Baby,” Beatrice said with a salacious wink.

“I'll meet you in the middle,” Clover demurred. “How’s Bea?”

She made a moue, bringing her hands to her chin in a move that just so happened to emphasize her pouting décolletage. “Oh, if you insist.”

Lily tucked herself by his side, playing with a lock of hair. Her skin shimmered where scales caught the light. “What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

He made polite conversation, keeping one eye on the door: his name was Trefoil, he was a low-ranking soldier in the Atlas military, he was looking to spend his night off out on the town. He had just assured Thea he'd bumped into one of the famous Ace Ops once when bad luck strolled in.

Harriet sometimes joked that he'd spend hours mooning over Qrow, even in sweatpants. She was probably right: the man carried himself with an easy, laidback confidence that lent his every move a magnetic charm.

This wasn't that Qrow. 

This Qrow carried himself with what could only be described as swagger, a self-assured strut that assumed every eye would find a rightful place on him. The kind of walk that didn't just advertise money, but bought out every billboard in town. At the tables nearest him, Clover caught an exchange of glances as the casino operatives took the bait.

The room was too loud to hear what he said as he bought his chips, but Clover caught the haughty tone in his voice – did he steal that from Jacques? – around a heavily-edited tale of crashing into Vine in the hallway.

“You seem distracted.” Thea’s low voice brought his focus back to the conversation. “See something you like out there?”

He shook his head, giving her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, just nervous. I don't spend much time talking to beautiful women.”

“I can tell,” Lily huffed. “You haven't told us even _one_ of your heroic war stories.”

Bea perked up. “Would you? I _love_ hearing about daring adventures.”

He channeled Marrow, staring, wide-eyed, at each face in turn. “Are you sure you want to hear about something like that? It was really dangerous…”

Lily gripped his arm. “Ooh, that might be scary!”

Thea draped herself across the arm Lily hadn't claimed, blinking up at him through long eyelashes. “Will you make us feel better, if we get scared?”

Bea laughed, a raucous sound from someone so soft in appearance. “Oh, girls, I doubt he has anything that could scare us.”

Thea smiled. Lily shrugged. “Maybe not, but we won't know unless he tells one, will we?”

Her matter-of-fact tone shocked a laugh out of him, and he gave them a genuine smile. “Well, I can't promise anything, but I think I can come up with a tale or two.”

He kept an eye on Qrow as he talked, as much as he could from across the room. Seemed like he'd been doing poorly at the roulette wheel – about halfway through a story about Clover’s first Nevermore, he shoved away from the table, only to be coaxed over to the poker games closer to the water. The croupier eagerly raked in the pile of chips he left behind.

“This looks like trouble,” Thea said when he was done. She nodded to the poker table, where other heads were beginning to turn. “That guy’s been losing all night and he hasn't been taking it well.”

Even as she said it, Qrow flipped over his hand and swore. “I’m _telling_ you, somebody’s been fucking with me. This is, what, the sixth time I've lost big? There's no way that's natural!”

“Dunno what to tell you, buddy.” The guy next to him, a broad-shouldered man with a cigar, shrugged expressively as he collected the chips. “Guess Lady Luck just ain't with you tonight.”

“Like _fuck_ she ain't!” The words came sputtered on a laugh, and Clover winced, making a point not to catch Qrow’s eyes. It was a nice save; no need to risk compromising it. “Tell you what, _buddy,_ I'm betting it all.” He shoved a teetering heap of chips to the center of the table. “One more game.”

The man eyed the pile, taking an appreciative drag from his cigar. “That’s a nice chunk of lien, but poker’s all about the stakes. With the way your luck’s been going, I'd have a fairer game betting against your drink.”

Qrow laughed, a harsh squawk of a thing that made no secret of his derision. “Lucky for you, I wasn't talking about poker.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it, the harsh _ting_ of his nail against the metal sounding once, twice, three times until he flicked it in the other man’s direction. The room watched as he fumbled the silvery blur. “I'll even let you call it.”

The man inspected the coin, bringing it close to his eye, squinting at it from all angles, and even giving it a couple flips himself. Then he glared at Qrow.

“Call it,” Qrow repeated. His eyes were fixed on the coin.

Discreetly, Clover’s hand found his pin under his jacket.

The man flipped.

The coin tumbled end over end, each facet glinting in the light.

The room held its breath.

It landed, perfectly balanced, on its side.

“Wh- I-” the man spluttered. “This has to be a trick!”

“Try another coin,” Qrow said. He stared, unblinking, as the man fumbled another out of his pocket.

Side.

The man pointed a trembling finger, face reddening. “You- you've done something to me!”

Qrow nodded at the third player from the poker table. “You wanna give it a go?”

Flip. Side.

All around the room, hands dug coins out of pockets, purses, and shoes. All around the room, coins stood, balanced on an edge.

And with the room distracted, Clover slipped a set of restraints off of his belt and around Bea’s wrists.

“You _fucker!_ ” Lily snarled. She went to punch him, but Clover dodged, sending her stumbling into the drink table. The crash of breaking glass was muffled under the violence erupting everywhere else – looked like Qrow had hauled off and punched the cigar out of his opponent’s mouth, but Thea was pulling two swords out of the back of her dress and he had no time to find out for sure, only slip through the crush of bodies pushing for the door and tip a table in her path as he made for Qrow.

“Thanks for the assist,” the huntsman drawled, kneeing one security guard in the groin and kicking him into the next, “but I think I'm good here, lucky charm. These guys aren't exactly Grimm.”

Clover redirected a punch, sending another guard toppling. “Maybe not, but that was quite the stunt you pulled. I don't want anyone getting a lucky hit in with your aura that low.”

Qrow snorted. “With you here? As if.”

Something warm flared in his chest. He turned a few degrees, suddenly desperate to catch a glimpse of Qrow’s face, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A box of cards to the face sent the would-be sneak down fast.

A few more decks sat, slightly askew, on the table next to him. “Hey, Qrow,” he called, flicking a card to land just so under a guard’s feet. “How do you feel about fifty-two card pickup?”

“Long as I don't have to pick them up after!”

Clover tossed the cards, grinning. They fluttered to the ground like snow. “Think I'll get a royal flush?”

The last guard hung back, taking in the bodies of his fallen comrades, the crack of Qrow’s knuckles – he'd pushed his shirt sleeves up, Clover noted. Winter was going to ruin him if he wrinkled that jacket. Deciding he wasn't paid for this, the security guard ran.

“I dunno about the royal flush,” Qrow shot back, “but it looks like we cleared out the full house.”

“That’s the dealer’s call,” Thea grunted, charging them swords out.

Qrow stomped on her foot, grabbed an arm, and wrenched a sword out of her hand, sending her flipping over his shoulder. She skidded on the cards, but recovered enough to twist around Clover when he came after her.

He circled her warily, pausing only to catch the sword Qrow threw his way. “You saying I need this more than you?”

Qrow snorted, catching a sword of his own on a reinforced sleeve. “If the shoe fits...” He went to elbow her in the stomach, but she dropped low, sweeping his feet from under him. He compensated with a flip, but slipped on the cards himself – just missing a blow to the head from Lily, who had come up from behind. Clover repaid her with a slash to the side. The blade glanced strangely off her scaled arm. Qrow, meanwhile, vaulted to his feet and interrupted another of Thea’s charges with a grab, spinning her around and slamming her face into a table. Glasses, coins, and dice went flying.

Three sharp claps echoed above the chaos. The fighters froze. Bea, free of her ties, lounged across the poker table, framed with chips and cards.

“Nice work, everyone,” she said, lingering on the vowels just a little long to be sincere. “Clover, I thought I recognized you! How rude, to lead a girl on like that when there’s clearly someone else in the picture.”

His cheeks warmed. Staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Qrow’s eyes, he replied, “I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

“Oh, honey.” She tutted. “At least you can recognize that much. Trust Baby when she says you gave her quite the show.”

“So you are the boss,” Qrow noted, brushing off his jacket. “You gonna be reasonable? Ironwood wants to talk.”

She draped herself across the table, hiding coyly behind a fan of cards. “For the General? Oh, no. For you, though… You could push your luck.” A dainty hand extended, waiting.

Qrow sauntered forward and pressed a kiss to it. Clover, watching, wondered if it scratched. “Lucky for you, ma’am, luck’s our business.”

Lily groaned, throwing her head to the side. “Can you, like, not?”

Thea nodded. “Being humiliated is bad enough, but the jokes are horrible.”

“Try living with it,” Clover stage-whispered, relishing Qrow’s surprised glare.

“Anyway,” Bea – Babs – said, flapping a hand. “What’s our esteemed landlord taken issue with?”

“Aw, cut the crap,” Qrow told her, not unkindly. “We’re here about the Dust smuggling.”

She pouted. “It’s only a little, here and there…”

“A little’s enough for the guy upstairs.” Qrow folded his arms. “So, you've got two choices. You could come back up to Atlas with us, get a nice prison stay out of it.”

“Or?” Clover asked.

“Or you stop the smuggling operation, we report the rumor as unfounded, and you get to keep running this swanky establishment.”

Babs frowned, crossing her arms. She frowned harder when this didn't move the men in front of her. “What's in it for you?”

“Information.” Qrow jerked his head toward the tables, overturned and disheveled as they were. “You get all sorts here. Dust smugglers, military types, revolutionaries. We let you go, you keep making a profit off ‘em. All you gotta do is tell us if they say anything interesting.”

She searched his face, but he stayed resolute. She sighed. “Lemme talk it over with my girls.”

The three of them huddled up. Clover took advantage of the moment to sidle over to Qrow. “I hope you know what you're doing,” he hissed.

“Yeah, yeah. Trust me, boy scout,” he replied in kind. “Look, they're not doing any harm. As long as they stop smuggling, we've done our job, right?”

“I guess, but…”

“I’m sick and tired of Jimmy having all the cards.” Spite colored Qrow’s pronunciation of the name, his vitriol taking Clover back. “I can't trust anything if he's our only source of information.”

“The General–”

“– sent the both of us to a casino, with a bar, to ‘talk to the boss’” – heavy air quotes – “without so much as telling us what that boss looked like.” Qrow looked at him, flat. “I'm just saying. James doesn't think as highly of you as you think of him.”

Clover looked away. Qrow’s hand found his shoulder. It took a good deal of effort not to lean in. “It's not like we’re going against orders,” Qrow said. “We're just being smart about it.” Visions danced through his head: every time he'd ‘misinterpreted’ a direct order to keep his team safe. “Or do you really think these ladies belong in a cell?”

He gave in with a sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”

A light cough behind him spun them both around. “If you're done?”

The girls stood in triangle formation, Babs at the center, the others to either end. Lily now sported a bandage over the shallow cut on her arm, a festive strip from Thea’s hem. Thea herself twirled a sword in one hand. (Realizing he still held the other one, Clover tossed it to her. She caught it with bemused grace.) Babs was the one who had spoken. She strode closer to them, hand outstretched – to shake this time. “We’ll take your offer.”

Clover accepted it. Any thoughts of gripping lightly in respect for her delicate fingers were squeezed out of his head, and he responded with a firm military pump. “And how do we know you'll follow the terms?”

“Ooh, will you call the Ace Ops on us if we don't?” Lily shivered theatrically. “You're handsome enough in a suit, I suppose, but _Elm…_ ”

“Tempting,” Babs smirked, “but impractical.” She motioned at the broken glass, spilled alcohol, and hired goons which littered the floor. “These things cost money to replace, you know, and I've got a reputation to uphold. We’ll be good.”

“Good,” Qrow said, “cause I really gotta get out of here. This whole place smells like booze. No offense.” He made for the exit at a good clip, Clover soon behind him.

“Clover, wait.” Babs called him back. Qrow, groaning, collapsed against the doorframe. “How’d you know it was me?”

He laughed, hustling them out the door. “As if anyone would be that interested in one of my stories. I might not have my weapon on me, but you were definitely fishing.”

Luckily, the air in the parking lot was clear, of alcohol if nothing else. “Brothers,” Qrow coughed, “but I could use a drink.”

Clover patted his back sympathetically. “Let's get you home. We can tell the girls all about how you punched that guy in the face.”

That brought a smirk to Qrow’s lips. “It was a pretty good face to punch.”

 _Speaking of a pretty face..._ The line was tempting, but Clover swallowed it back. Too much, too far, and the neon lights lit a glow in Qrow he'd rather admire without breaking.

There'd be time. For now: the unearthly glint of carmine eyes, the racing contact where their shoulders touched, and the laughter shared between them, on the way home.


End file.
